


Ten Years Gone

by foundCarcosa



Category: Fable (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-29
Updated: 2011-07-29
Packaged: 2017-10-21 23:02:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/230822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foundCarcosa/pseuds/foundCarcosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People change much in ten years' time, and people also somehow remain the same. (Just playing around with characters I don't usually write. There may or may not be another fic written in addition to this one later on...)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ten Years Gone

It hurts -- her neck where the collar once hung heavy and thrumming with ominous power, the places in her skull where the iron headband was held fast, the blisters on her feet from the heavy, ill-fitting shoes and the scorched spots on her torso from where the Commandant's powers had found their mark. It hurts to bear the anxious, overeager licks of her dog's tongue, to feel the unobscured Oakfield sun on her shaven head, to swallow.

And it aches similarly to pretend not to see the flaxen-haired children staring as she trudges by, to pretend not to hear the whispers floating from the Sandgoose -- _that there's Sparrow, you remember, right? Such a shame... poor thing trapped up in that awful Spire, no place for a sweet lass like her, you know? Poor thing..._  -- to pretend that she isn't acutely aware of her diminished beauty, something she was taught not to put much stock in, but did anyway.

And everyone is older now, but the lines in their faces are most often etched in by laughter and a good life, and the weariness they feel is from chasing chickens and children and tilling fields and churning butter. Sparrow is older too, and though she shouldn't have looked a day over twenty, she looks years over fifty.

It's all illusion, of course -- she doesn't age the way they all did; it would be decades before her body finally started to give. But one decade in the Spire could age anyone, until time swathed in the light and comfort of Albion's villages slowly reversed the effects. Slowly...

She pauses at the carriage house, even though she'd never considered taking a carriage in her life, not when her feet carried her just as well and her dog had plenty of detours on which to drag her until she finally arrived at her destination laden with new treasures and fascinating finds...  
She pauses, casts a sidelong look at the sleek black vehicle and equally sleek horses.

"Need a ride, do y'?" came an amiable voice, a voice to listen to whilst travelling long distances, a voice for meandering yarns and tall tales. "Lowest fares in Albion, I've got 'em."

Sparrow swallows hard, swallows pride and indignation and the need to be independent. "May I... have a ride to Rookridge, the Inn. Please."

\--x--

Hammer is overjoyed.

"I missed you, yes, I did, and your little dog, he missed you too..." She signals hurriedly at the bartender, catches the two pints as they're slid down the bar in her direction. Sparrow starts to shake her head no, she doesn't want one, but thank you anyway... but the foaming mug is already in her hand. "Ah, Sparrow, Sparrow! You look..."

And Hammer's husky, booming voice stills, and Sparrow's eyes avert themselves. She takes a long drink, finding that she wanted the ale after all.

"You look like you've been through a lot," Hammer finishes, a little quieter. "But it's made you stronger, I can tell! And you don't look a day over eighteen, no, you don't..."

Sparrow's sidelong glance takes in the wisps of grey that curl at Hammer's temples, the healthy flush in her round cheeks, the pronounced curve of her hips, not so visible in monk's robes but certainly so now. Graceful ageing. She could have been someone's mother, someone's wife. The enduring love of someone's life, strong and protective.  
"Haven't you married yet, Hammer?" The bitterness in her voice wasn't welcome, but it was impossible to quell.

" _Me_? Who wants to marry big, loud old Hammer, huh? Don't be silly," she laughs, as mirthful as a pallbearer. "You know you were the talk of the town, you _know_  that... all the men were simply sittin' around waitin' on you to come back..."

Sparrow with the hair like autumn leaves, Sparrow with the faraway eyes, oh, yes; she remembers the wistful sighs and snatches of gossip. "They want what they can't have, you know how it is, Hammer, it's not _real_..."

"Well, they can't have me either, so they oughta start writin' sonnets about me, too." The statement rings with finality and the stubborn scowl that she knows would be curling Hammer's lips if she were to look.

A beat passes after that, and another. They both take hearty drinks from their mugs. Sparrow's hand curves around Hammer's bicep, squeezes gently. "I missed you, too, Hammer.  
I took a carriage here, did you know?"

The stubborn set to Hammer's jaw softens, and she turns her head to peg Sparrow with a surprised look. "You didn't! You _never_  take carriages, y' always walk, it's one of the things I liked about you! In _that_ much of a hurry, were y'?"

There was no need for her to know about the blisters or the weariness or the not-yet-bearable sun. The smile was close, just under the surface, and Sparrow knew how to retrieve it. "Theresa told me you'd be here."

"Did she? Crazy lady, always hauntin' my footsteps." But the flush of colour is back, and her lips twitch before curving. For a moment, she doesn't look a day over twenty. "...A carriage, huh."

"Come on, finish up." Sparrow nudges the larger woman's hand, the one holding the ale. "We've still a bit of time before Garth comes 'round."

She laughs then, the rich, full-bodied sound that was as rare as fine, aged wine but as desirable as the same. "Need a full-body massage, do y'? I bet."

Sparrow opens her mouth to protest, brows knitting in the centre of her forehead, but Hammer tut-tuts, shaking her head before a word can escape.

"Quiet, now, Little Miss Avenging Angel. We've got a lot of work ahead of us still, and don't think I don't know the _real_  reason why you took that carriage here. Let me take care of you."

And, like usual, Sparrow shuts her mouth, nods meekly, and takes comfort in the thought that no matter what changed in Albion, her quietly-beloved Hammer is far too stubborn to follow suit.


End file.
